


Do We Die?

by Indigo55



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Jealousy, Longing, M/M, Resentment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 23:16:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17212691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigo55/pseuds/Indigo55
Summary: SPOILERS!!!******The other day I came across an interview with Johnny Depp in which he talks about an idea he took to JKR: that Grindelwald, as Graves in FB I, would immediately jump to conclusions when he found out Albus had defended Newt when he was expelled.  Knowing Albus's sexuality, and apparently having a dirty mind, Gellert would assume they had an intimate relationship...and be jealous, to the extent that things would get very dangerous for Newt. And the fact is, Gellert's tried to kill Newt no fewer than three times in two movies. He sentenced him to death, and when that didn't work, in the subway duel, he wasn't just trying to subdue him, he was torturing him, and was plainly intending to kill him. He makes the creepy comment to him as he's led off into custody.  And in the climax of FB II, just before he's about to kill everyone in sight, he makes a point of taunting Newt about Dumbledore mourning him.Seems to me they are subtly playing this, and I really like it. So I wrote this.None of these characters or basic concepts are mine, of course.





	Do We Die?

**Do We Die?**

It had been difficult, when it came to it, for him to part with his old wand. It had fit in his hand since he was a young boy, an extension of his arm, his body, his will, his ever-expanding power as he grew into his abilities. It had _chosen_ him, as those steeped in deepest wand lore taught. He knew it. He knew it had exulted in the ever-increasing strength, range, and flexibility of the magic he directed thru it. It had gloried in his ascension. Together, alone, they had learned the ways of power, great power, far beyond what any pathetic teacher in any school could possibly have shown him.

But then another wand came. Yes, he had sought it out, sifted out all the clues reaped from all the endless old tales, until he tracked it down in the wandmaker's workshop, and made it his. And it was _his_ ; the instant, the very instant he took it into his fingers, he felt it thrill with recognition, with joy, with _submission_.

That ineffable sensation…what he first experienced the very second he took up the Elder Wand…his desire to experience it again was what drove him now, to this day, in his great journey, his quest to remake, no less, the entire world. To feel that again…the total surrender, the acquiescence of the most tremendous, ferocious fount of magical might in existence, to **him** …to _**him**_ …

He had told himself his motivations were much purer. He wove a story in his mind about freeing his people, his kind, so they may live as they were plainly meant to live, openly, unrestrained, in command of this Earth. His kind would appreciate and care for this miracle-filled world in ways so utterly beyond the grasp, the conception of the feeble species now _allowed_ to believe _they_ were the undisputed monarchs of this planet.

_It would be better, the best, for all. It would obviously, undeniably, be for the greater good._

The Greater Good.

And the wonder of the Elder Wand had at last made his path clear to him. He'd had such dreams for years, ever since he began to perceive that he was not like most of his kind but was different; was _more_. He had worked out theories, ideologies…but his plans did not crystallize for him until the catalyst of the Wand. The Wand of Power.

Still…for some reason…it was hard to pass his first wand along to another. While it could not compare to his new Wand, it was not just any wand, either. No, it had _picked_ him. And it had led him into expanses of magical knowledge and skill few others even knew existed.

Which made it all the more imperative that this be the wand he make a very special, in fact a crucial gift. This wand was tried and true, accustomed to a wielder of immense ability. A wand that would leap to obey a prodigious magical will. An extremely prodigious will, fueled by a level of magical force he had seen displayed by only one other wizard other than himself…

So he had done it, in the end; relinquished the wand. It was the best thing he could do, to guarantee his new acolyte had a tool worthy of him. And so far, he was not disappointed. The young man had mastered it instinctively.

He could hear him practicing his aim, all the way on the other side of the castle, knowing each muffled explosion to be the destruction of another section of cliff on the other side of the valley. It was fine, for now, but soon he would have to redirect his student into the study of finer control. While it was easy enough to restore the Alpine mountainsides they nestled in, he felt such gross violence violated the benign stewardship of the natural world he intended to make central in his new world's philosophy. Better to do no harm to begin with rather than have to make repairs.

Of course, there were situations where a certain amount of demolition might be unavoidable. But it was one thing to attempt to obliterate Paris, and certain of his enemies with it, and another to destroy pristine nature just for the sake of target practice.

The memory of Paris stirred him enough that he rose from his chair and strode around his large, sumptuously-appointed drawing room. It irked him that his intent to level the city had been thwarted, and by such a bunch of inept, talentless fools. If they were the best the British & French Ministries could muster against him, his eventual victory was going to be that much easier. If it had been up to only them to stop him, he would have seen Paris annihilated, but that ancient meddler Flamel had turned up. Flamel…another friend of his nemesis…

Becoming more agitated, he found his mind turning again to the loss of the vial. He had missed it minutes after disapparating from Père Lachaise, and still had no idea how he had lost it. He had sent minions to search for it, but nothing had been found. Had his enemies laid hands on it? _Probably not,_ he told himself, and even if they had they most likely would not know just what it was. They weren't a very clever lot. When he had time, he would devote himself to a search and would be sure to locate it; in the meantime, it couldn't be harmed in any way, its magical properties were too strong. After all it contained the blood of the two most powerful wizards in the world…

He heard the crump of another muted explosion and thought, _two of the three…_

Yes. Two on one side, only one on the other, now. Albus would be his nemesis no longer. He had no allies of comparable capability; only the handful of hapless idiots he could con and manipulate into doing his will, all the while completely unaware that they were his puppets, his pawns in this great game the two of them played. Albus did not have friends any more than he did, he told himself, only those who served a purpose and could be easily discarded or even sacrificed if need be.

Then – as happened with some frequency lately, he found himself thinking about _him_ again... dwelling on _him_.

Youth could be intoxicating, and he'd had a good look at this one, first in New York, in a large reception hall: tall and slender and lithe, with those eyes, usually averted but bright as jewels, those sculpted cheekbones, that wide mouth. The thick fall of bronze-brown curls on his forehead. The charming freckles. And the beguiling awkwardness; the apparent shyness, the strange fixation with animals. Intriguing enough - and then his search of the extended suitcase had revealed that this young wizard was indeed much more talented than met the eye. He had even managed to capture and contain an Obscurus.

_I wouldn't kick him out of bed myself._

But the facts of just who Newt Scamander was, and who he was to Albus Dumbledore, hadn't been clear to him until he'd read the dossier. Then he saw it all.

Yes, during all those eternal undoubtedly dreary years Albus spent in the Scottish hinterlands, stuck in that moldy old pile, wasting his brilliance trying to teach the painfully mediocre…he had found a favorite, one to relieve the tedium, to warm his bed, distract his heart. He could understand it, he truly could. 

But that did not mean he found it acceptable.

Now he relived the flush of malignant glee he'd felt when he'd first reveled in who he had in his power, how delighted he'd been in that MACUSA interrogation room. _Ah, Albus, I see your plots! And I've got your boytoy right here, to do with what I want. Is he so much more desirable than I was? Is his youthful flesh that much more of an enchantment between the sheets?_

_Do you love him when you do not love me any more?_

_...He's talked back to me. I can't let that pass._

_I'm afraid he knows a little too much, more than I can really allow to walk out of here, Albus. I hope you weren't too attached to him…and even if you were…_

_No one takes my place. No one._

The rage of jealousy boiling in him, carefully concealed, he had sent Scamander off to his death; it had made him happy to do so.

 _It turned out he wasn't such a retiring thing after all,_ he then thought sourly, remembering his capture at the young Brit's hands. _Interfering bastard. Albus's darling. At least I got to torture him._

And here, some nine months later. He was back. Doing Albus's bidding. Used as his catspaw. He was sure Scamander had no knowledge of the real reason _he_ was dispatched to Paris, rather than Albus taking care of matters himself. That would be classic Dumbledore, using the love of others to get them to do as he wished. He also suspected Albus hadn't anticipated things taking such a…deadly turn. Would he be so eager to send his catamite against him now? If it might mean having to mourn him?

_If he does, I'll settle him. There will be no mistake next time. And I'll send what's left of him back to Albus in a beautiful goblin-made snuff box. He'll appreciate that touch, he loves nice things._

_And I will enjoy making Newt Scamander's death as prolonged and excruciating as I know how. Which is quite a lot._

He heard another distant blasting of a hillside and thought, _He's done enough of that for now; it's just about time for lunch._ He left the room to find his protégé.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another thing about this story: I think it's a reasonable assumption that Grindelwald would choose to pass on to Credence/Aurelius his own, previous wand, the wand he possessed before he stole the Elder Wand and so made it his. It's obviously not just any wand, having been his tool for his first discoveries and explorations of his powers; he was a notorious wizard before he ever claimed the Elder Wand, after all.
> 
> I'm also being influenced by the fact that Gellert's first wand is one of the wands in the Wizarding World logo; perhaps it needs to be recognized as Grindelwald's & Credence's/Aurelius's?
> 
> Comments are welcome, intensely hoped for, in fact.


End file.
